


A Continued Association

by the_cowgirl_bookworm



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cowgirl_bookworm/pseuds/the_cowgirl_bookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julia Tarantella works as a collector for Don Falcone and Fish Mooney's new assistant quickly draws her attention. Once she hears that Oswald is "dead" she knows that something is, well, rather fishy. Even in exile, Oswald Cobblepot will have an ally in the mob.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue 1

Julia Tarantella knew that she mattered little in the grand scheme of things. Truthfully, little did matter aside from the cosmos. The sun would still rise and set if she died, just as Gotham would rot to the very center. So she figured she would at least go out looking good. Well tailored jackets, skirts that complemented her darker complexion. Gold earrings, a gift at her initiation from Don Falcone.

Of course, there was nothing improper there. She refused to be a comare, to the Don or anyone. Not that he had ever asked, all she was expected to do was to go to his underbosses and collect payment each week. The underbosses collected their from their territory, the Don took a portion for his continued protection. All Julia had to do was collect the money and make sure that it reached Don Falcone's consigliere in its entirety.

Stealing from the mob would be very stupid, and Julia prided herself on her intelligence.

It was a Thursday when she met him, her usual pickup day at Fish Mooney's club. Trent was her usual meet for this, but she couldn't see him through the low lights of the club. Something detached itself from the shadows, a thin, pale visage in a black suit. Her eyes narrowed, hand twitching toward the knife she kept in her jacket pocket. But it was only a young man, a little red around the eyes and with some teeth that needed to be introduced to modern orthodontia. "You must be Miss Tarantella."

A hand was stuck out, waiting for a shake. She accepted. "Julia, where's Trent?"

"Oh," The man's eyes lit up a little. "He was scraping a little of the top, telling Miss Mooney that her clients were having trouble and keeping it for himself. She took care of him. I'm Oswald Cobblepot, her new assistant."

Julia snorted. Mooney'd been short for a few weeks, she needed to be more on top of her men if she didn't notice that. _Although maybe being on top of Trent was her problem._ She smiled. "Well, here's hoping that you're wiser, Oswald."

He gave a rather high pitched chuckle, "Oh, I am." His eyes widened. "How rude of me, what do want to drink? It's the least I can offer."

"Lemonade, you need a clear head on this job." Julia watched him go get it, watching for any stray movement. It would be all to easy to slip some poison in among the ice. But it came back clean, and was a refreshing taste when compared to the hard liquor and piss flavored beer the other boys preferred. "So, shall we get down to business?"

Oswald nodded, "Of course, you'll find the payment in full." He slid a stuffed manila envelope across the table. Julia hefted it, then peeked inside. Wads of hundreds, fifties, and more stared back.

Julia transferred it to the messenger bag on her side. "The Don may want reparations payed for what Trent took. Can you guarantee Mooney will pay?"

"I am sure that she would. Miss Mooney loves the Don like a father."

"That's what Trent said too."

"Well she does."

Julia snorted. They all say that, 'I would never betray the Don, he's family', all the like. Quite a few of those had to be replaced with more controllable underlings. The door opened, cold air spilling in. A couple of Mooney's men had come back, all smiles and booming laughs. One of them noticed her and Oswald's little soiree.

Unfortunately, he decided to interrupt.

"Hey, honey trust me you don't want that little penguin. Now me," he shoved an elbow onto her table, smiling, "I'm a real man."

"I've asked you not to call me that." Oswald spat, eyes narrowing.

"I'm here for Don Falcone's payment, and he'd be more than willing to straighten out you, real man or not." Julia replied, voice cold. So would her knife, he wouldn't be so handsy without his hands. The guys quickly backed up, all apologies. They were alone again.

"I'm terribly sorry, I'll see that Miss Mooney is informed and they are removed." His voice was still a little strained, hands shaking a little.

She waved her hand, brushing the moment aside. "I'm sure they'll screw up on something bigger than a little flirting. You shouldn't let them bother you, especially with that name. You react, they want you to react even more."

"What would you know?"

"I didn't have a very happy social life as a child." Julia chuckled a little, "Learn to control your anger. When they can't see it, they won't expect it." She patted her messenger bag, reassuring herself the payment was still there. Her lemonade was gone, and she would need a cab to get the payment back to headquarters. Oswald was looking at her like she'd just sprouted a second head that had burst into a performance of Dixieland. Julia stood, her hand out for him. "It's been a pleasure, Mr. Cobblepot."

His hand was clammy but his grasp was firm. "Until next week Miss Tarantella."


	2. Prologue 2

When she came the next week, Oswald had already claimed a table. There was even a lemonade waiting for her. She smiled as she sat, holding back a grimace as he returned it. That boy really needed to go to a dentist. "Oswald, I see you've come prepared this time."

"Yes, Ms. Tarantella." He almost seemed to bounce in his seat.

Julia sat, flicking her dark brown hair behind her. Damn Gotham weather was making go all frizzy. "I take it Mooney has her payment in full this week?"

"I counted it myself." He placed the envelope on the table. "It's all there."

Julia hefted it, then looked inside. Don Falcone would be pleased, he hated being shorted even if there was an excuse. Both she and the consigliere had had to work on him for the last few weeks when Mooney was short. But Carmine could be understanding, despite what most of Gotham thought. Ruthless, but understanding. The second full payment should soothe him a little. She tucked it away, turning to her drink. It didn't taste overly bitter, nor overly sweet, so unless Oswald had gotten his hands on some iocane powder she was fine. "Good man. How is Mooney these days? I so rarely get to see her."

"She's well, making sure that none of Maroni's men get into her territory."

"How well? The Don wasn't pleased at being shorted for three weeks."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Don Falcone wishes for Miss Mooney to make reparations for what he missed. He expects five grand in addition to the usual payment next week." Julia smirked a little, then sipped her drink. Truth be told, Carmine had been most displeased when Fish's shortcomings came to light.

"I'm sure Miss Mooney's clients will be very generous next week." Oswald's voice was a little more high-pitched. His water glass shook a little as he raised it. So he feared Mooney, or Mooney's men.

"No, this is to come from Miss Mooney's purse." Julia let her smile reach her ears. "If she is loyal and a true friend, the money should be no object."

"I am sure it will not be."

Julia clapped her hands a little, pleased. "Well, now that all that nasty business is concluded, how have you been for the past week, Oswald?"

If he was shocked at her quick change of subject, he hid it well. "Very well, Miss Mooney has been interviewing new acts for the club."

"Strippers?"

"Oh no, she prefers to keep this a classier place."

So, she just call them dancers. "Comedy acts, bands, the like?"

"Yes, many have been quite talented."

Julia swirled the rest of her lemonade, the ice tinkling in the glass. "And is that what you like?"

"They are not bad..." He trailed off, eyes seeing something that wasn't around them.

"But?"

"I prefer a bit more grace. Ballet, opera, I have always found those fascinating." His voice deepened a little, almost rapturous. "Such movement, such beauty. I would rather watch that than a mere comedian." He blinked, immediately going back to the servile mood he favored. "Forgive me, you probably don't want to hear about that."

"No, I enjoy the ballet myself. Swan Lake has always been my favorite." Julia could see something in his eyes. There was a fight going on in them, her guess would be that he wanted to continue their discussion of the arts, yet a gangster was not supposed to favor them. At least not a man. And here he was, trying so hard to be a man, a gangster. She couldn't help but smile at that. "The Gotham Ballet is putting it on next season."

"I hope you get good tickets."

"I always do." She set her empty glass down, her mood improved a little. Even her hair didn't bother her. She'd have to try and get Oswald to talk more about himself, there was more in that man and he seemed to be intelligent. She so rarely got to meet anyone intelligent in her line of work.

"Oswald!" A voice cut through the club, female and very impatient. Ah, Fish. Truly refined, aren't you?

He jumped, turning towards the back. "Forgive me, Miss Tarantella, it sounds like she needs me."

Julia reached over and grabbed his lapel. "You make sure she pays up next week. The Don doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"I will." He nodded, then turned and made a gangly run for the back of the club. The five grand was more than twice what had been swiped, but Falcone wanted Mooney kept in line. Oh, she would rage and whine, but she would pay. She needed Falcone's protection and patronage. She'd pay, despite her anger.

Julia just hoped she would take it out to much on Oswald.

He wouldn't be able to talk with a broken jaw.


	3. Snitches Get What's Coming To Them

Next week it was a discussion of the modern art exhibit at the Gotham Museum, Fish's money on the table with a deposit slip and Oswald sporting a black eye. Julia wanted to tell him that he should tell Fish to shove it and come work directly for the Don, but he had some strange kind of loyalty to Mooney.

No matter what she said, he would defend his boss.

It showed loyalty, something that went missing all to often in Gotham.

Of course, that loyalty didn't last long.

***

The club was dark, as usual. Oswald even seemed to be happy, a small smile on his face. The black eye had faded, now he was back to his usual red-rimmed eyes and red-ended nose self. He quickly pushed the envelope towards her. Something was up, he knew it, and seemed anxious to let her know. "Miss Tarantella, I have a secret for you."

She continued standing, fingers grazing the envelope. "And?"

"Miss Mooney has a police officer hung up in the slaughterhouse. A Detective James Gordon. She intends to kill him."

Her head snapped around towards the back, looking for Fish. Everything in her wanted to growl, and then shake Fish so hard her teeth fell out. This was unacceptable. Mooney was stepping out of line and putting their whole operation at risk. How stupid could that woman be? "She knows Falcone has to sanction cop killings."

"I would hazard a guess that she does." Oswald almost seemed giddy at the prospect.

Julia stalked away, money still on the table. Out of earshot she pulled out her phone and quickly dialed.

"Julia, this had better be good." It was Anthony, the consigliere that Don Falcone barely went without.

"Put me on with the Don, Mooney's gonna off a cop."

"Bitch, hold on a minute." He replied. She could hear the phone shuffle from hand to hand. She was fairly sure the curse had been meant for Mooney, but with Anthony you could never be sure.

"What an unexpected surprise." Carmine's voice was low, almost angry. "Here I was enjoying my dinner when I get a call, this had better be good."

"Fish Mooney's got a GCPD officer strung up in her slaughterhouse. James Gordon, and I don't think he's going to last long."

A string of Italian curses spewed forth. "The boys and I will come, you meet us there. Mooney's gone too far this time." The phone went dead. Julia turned around. Oswald had left, the money still on the table. She quickly pocketed it, then ran for the door. Inside of five minutes a dark sedan pulled up, and she jumped inside. Three of Carmine's enforcers were in it, all holding shotguns. It only seemed to take a minute before the brakes were squealing to a stop. The enforcers got out, and after the gunfire had died down, she followed. Her ankle boots clicked through blood as she stepped around corpses. Carmine was talking to the last of Mooney's men, and she turned to the cop. Or rather, cops.

"Jewels!" The other one, a Detective Harvey Bullock, called. Harvey insisted on calling her that stupid nickname, even though she had asked him not to. God, the last time she had seen Harvey Bullock was when she had to get him to call of the investigation on a hit Falcone had ordered. She didn't miss him.

She inclined her head. "Harvey, how's it hanging?" His tie was actually hitting him in the face, but he kept trying to shake it away.

"Been better." He shot back before turning his attention to Don Falcone. Julia stood aside as they were cut down, walking over to the Don when he gestured for her. Two more of the Don's men had shown up, another dangling from their grasp. She couldn't help the little gasp that came out when she saw Oswald's bruised and battered face. He was trying to stand, but one leg was bent at an unnatural angle and wouldn't support him.

Don Falcone turned to her. "You know him?"

"He's Mooney's assistant. Oswald Cobblepot, my meetup for the past few weeks." Her voice wasn't quite steady enough.

Carmine stepped closer. "You sweet on him?"

"Of course not sir, he merely made for intelligent conversation each week. I do not get that often." She ducked her head, cursing herself.

"You want intelligent conversation, I'll find you a university professor. He's a snitch, ratted out to Major Crimes at the GCPD." Carmine turned to Oswald. "You know what happens to snitches, right kid?" She needed to distance herself from Oswald as quickly as possible. A snitch could bring down anyone associated to them. She looked down at him, trying to force her face to remain passive.

"Yes, s-s-sir." He seemed to be speaking around a great deal of blood.

"You give me something, I'll make sure it's a clean death. Nothing like Mooney does. Bullet in the head, and I'll send a wreath to your mother."

"Thank you, sir, of course I will. Miss Mooney told me once, she finds you old and soft. She's planning to take you out. The Wayne's murder, it's going to bring chaos to the streets." Oswald then seemed to break down. "Please, please don't kill me. I'll do anything."

Carmine turned away as his men shoved Oswald back to the ground, snapping at him. Julia kept her head down as he spoke to her. "You tell Bullock that Gordon has to take him out to the end of Pier 58 at the city harbor, put a bullet in him. That's how we'll know he's with us. He doesn't, Bullock kills the snitch, then his partner."

"Of course, sir."

"Now, I've got to go talk to that kid. Tell him the ways of the world." Don Falcone walked off, gesturing for Gordon to follow him. Bullock and Gordon had been in almost constant conversation since Falcone had shown up.

Julia turned to the men. "Pat him down. Last thing we need is him hiding a knife." They bent to it, tossing her the only thing in his pockets. It was an glasses case, holding an old-fashioned pair of sunglasses with round lenses. She slipped it into a pocket, next to her knife.

"Keep them! Please, please, don't kill me. I'll be yours. I'll never do anything against you!" Oswald launched himself across the floor, grabbing onto her feet. His bloody black hair flicked against her legs as he began to kiss her feet. He kept up that whole mantra. "There's so much I could do for you! I know so much!"

"Oswald?"

"Julia?" He was almost crying now. He was using her first name, something he hadn't done. He was desperate, clinging to her ankles.

She bit her tongue to keep herself under control. "Shut up, face your death with a little dignity." His face went back to her feet, tears and kisses trying to win her approval. She turned to the men that had been holding him. "Take him out to Bullock's car, put him in the trunk."

It took all she had to not run away at the sounds Oswald made as they hauled him off. She stood, waiting until Bullock turned the corner and saw her. He tried to speak but she cut him off. "There's a snitch in your trunk, went to GCPD. Don Falcone wants you to have your partner take him out to Pier 58 and shoot him. He refuses, you kill the snitch, and then your partner."

Bullock seemed stunned. "That's cold."

"He's a snitch, and we need your partner loyal."

"You realize you just sentenced a man to die and another to become a killer." Bullock called after her as she turned away. She knew what she should have said. _Are you so innocent Harvey? Does Mario Pepper ring a bell? Don't try and act like you're so high above us. It's a war out here, and I intent to come out alive. ___

Her voice echoed back. "I know." 


	4. Pinkney Park

Fish had the money in full next week, delivering it herself. "It's such a shame about poor little Oswald."

"He was a snitch."

Mooney laughed, her fire truck bangs shaking. "Oh, I saw you talking to him every week."

"He made for pleasant conversation, that's all."

"Just keep telling yourself that, and by the way, how did it feel to order his death?" Fish smiled, her teeth flashing in the light. Julia gripped her own hands so tightly her palms almost bled. Despite being in the mob, she hadn't really killed. Oh, she'd cut a guy once or twice. If she didn't do that they'd think they could walk all over her just because she was a girl. Her position wasn't questioned much now, but back during her first days with the Don she'd had to fight off more than a few people who thought they could do a better job.

That's what Oswald should have been doing, not snitching. He should have been using favors and a few punches to secure his place.

Oswald could have risen far, perhaps even have been a consigliere. Now he was at the bottom of Gotham Harbor and she was out a conversation piece. All because Mooney tried to make a move without securing her own position, and Oswald moved too soon. That was the first rule for anything, make sure you're secure in case your plan backfires.

As she stepped out of the club, she pulled on Oswald's sunglasses. He wouldn't need them where he was, and they were such fine glasses it would be a shame not to use them. One of Carmine's cars was waiting for her, backseat filled with a wreath of flowers. It quickly drove her into Little Russia, filled with immigrants who had come over after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. She consulted the card on the wreath, then awkwardly climbed to the fourth floor, wreath banging against her thighs. She knocked on door 23, and was assailed by a musty breath of lavender scented air.

"Hi, Mrs. Cobblepot?" She said, smiling.

An older, gray haired woman looked out. "Kapelput."

"Oh, Kapelput. Sorry. I've got a gift for you. From Carmine Falcone." She held up the wreath. "He wants to express his condolences on the loss of your son."

"Ah! You girlfriend. Please, come in." She opened the door wider, quickly hustling Julia in. She took the wreath from her hand, pushed her to the couch, and quickly brought over tea. "I tell police they foolish. Where is my son, you painted slut?"

She couldn't speak for a moment.

Julia used the opportunity to look around. The place was decorated in a way that some Victorian matron would have been proud of. Everything draped, white with gilded corners. The place felt like a museum, except museums didn't smell this bad or have this much dust. Finally, she found her tongue. "I'm sorry, I came here to give you a wreath. For the funeral."

"My son is not dead! You have him, chained to bed while you come torture his poor mama."

"I can assure you Mrs. Kapelput, he is not with me."

"Lies!"

The tea tasted weak, ineffectual. Julia set her chipped china cup back down, moving to stand. "I'm sorry for your loss, I will leave now."

"You wait, hussy!" She called as she walked down a hallway. She quickly came back, loaded down with a folded suit and an umbrella. "If you not return my son, at least take him clothes. And umbrella, he need it after father die of pneumonia. That boy should never leave house without it." With that, she was hurried out the apartment. She stood outside the door, feeling as if she'd been blown around.

Her phone ringing distracted her.

"Hello?" She said, shuffling the clothes to underneath her arm and the umbrella to her other hand.

"Jewels, how's it going?" Harvey Bullock's voice was its usual bombastic self.

Oh great, her car had left. Now she'd have to hoof it back to her place. "Cut it Harv, what do you want?"

"My partner, he wants to talk to you."

"Put him on."

"Nah, he wants this to be in person."

"Meet me in front of Pinkney park at three." Julia hung up her phone, cursing Carmine's driver for ditching her. An hour later, she walked back up to her place. It wasn't in the richest part of Gotham, but the security was good and the Don payed her well enough for her to get the penthouse. So she dropped Oswald's clothes, but kept his umbrella. the sky was getting rather overcast, and she'd hate to stain her good shoes.

Pinkney park, designed by the late Cyrus Pinkney, was a large, meandering strain of grass, trees and manmade lakes that somehow hadn't died or scummed over. Pinkney had helped design the city of Gotham, and included this park as a sort of nature reserve. Of course now it teemed with the homeless, the thieves and everything Pinkney hadn't wanted. It was firmly Falcone territory, his men ran the drugs and anything else that went down here. Hell, even the landscapers were his. Cops tended to avoid the area. Although, it did have a rather nice pair of gargoyles out front. She sat on a bench in front of one of them, then popped the umbrella as it began to drizzle.

Right at three, a car pulled up, parking against the curb. Bullock stepped out, followed by the strong jawed policeman she'd last seen hanging from a meat hook. Julia gave them a smile, getting up as they approached. Gordon glared at her. "Isn't that Cobblepot's umbrella? He had it the first time I saw him."

She shrugged. "His mother gave it to me when I went to give her my sympathies. She seems to think he's alive, but," Another shrug, "We know that isn't true, right?"

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that." Gordon's voice was a little strained, a little too emotionless. He was trying to hide something, that much was obvious. They walked into the park, Bullock behind them. "Harvey told me about you."

"What, that I'm a collector?"

"That you ordered Copplepot's execution."

"Jim, haven't you heard of the phrase 'Don't shoot the messenger'?" Julia turned, looking out over a lake that should have held paddle boats but now held nothing but few dead fish. "Falcone gave the order, I relayed it. You were the one who carried it out."

He bristled at that. "Your boss would have gone after my family."

"Oh, don't act like you're so noble, like you sacrificed so much." Julia sneered, "You put poor Oswald in the water, if you really were this hero you think yourself to be you would have taken the bullet too."

"Maybe I just needed a little more time," He turned around, a finger pointing at her. "Time to find who really killed the Waynes."

"That's dangerous ground you're treading. You keep digging, you may not like what you'll find."

"The truth is what matters in this."

"Really? Truth will set you free? That's what's important? Not safety in Gotham?" Julia had heard this speech from Carmine the night of the Wayne murders. "You see corruption and darkness, but that's just barely holding off the real violence."

"What?"

"Oh please, like you don't know. Maroni's getting antsy, he wants more of the city for himself. Don Falcone's been using everything he has to prevent a full blown gang war, to try and keep the people of Gotham safe. So far it's just been our men dying, but it keeps going on? Suddenly innocent people start dying."

"Mobs don't keep people safe."

She full out laughed at that. "Who do you think called Falcone to come save your sorry ass?" Her own finger was out now, stabbing at him. "Me, and guess who told me you were all strung up? Oswald Cobblepot."

His eyebrows crinkled, confusion in his eyes.

"How does it feel, Jim? To have shot the man who saved your life? You're one of us now, not some hero. All you are is another low-life of Gotham, and all we do is take what we can get and off anyone who gets in our way. There's no room for heroes here. They'd be eaten alive."

She walked away, leaving Gordon standing there, soaking wet. Something in his voice though, when talking about Oswald, peaked her interest. Jim Gordon was not a very good liar. He saw himself no noble, an incorruptible cop. What kind of hero would he be if he shot an unarmed man to please a mob lord?

No, Oswald was alive and that could only mean more trouble.

And she intended to live through it.


	5. Reunited and It Feels So Good

The streets of Gotham were practically free of lowlifes once the Balloonman made his appearance. No one knew exactly how many of those weather balloons he had or who he was, they just knew that they weren't going to be next. Julia walked carefully, but she always kept a hand on her knife. She was fairly sure it would be able to puncture a balloon, but she wasn't exactly keen to find out. Besides, word had just come in that one of Mooney's clients had just gotten knifed in an alley. He'd been there for a few days, but they'd eventually followed the smell. Fish was going to be out some money, and Falcone would get pissed at her again.

It was great.

But Julia was bringing Falcone's usual gift of food and a little cash to the knifed man's girlfriend. The store where he had worked was dark, but the tearful woman took it into the back and said to thank the Don. Her business concluded, Julia made her way over to a food truck that was parked along the side of the street. A pastrami sandwich sounded good, right about now. She paid the man, and watched him as he pulled out her change. A hundred dollar bill was mixed in with all the ones. "Who payed with that?"

The guy shrugged. "Some guy in a ratty sweater with crappy teeth."

"Did he look like this?" Julia pulled up Oswald's picture on her phone. It was all to easy to get pictures nowadays.

Sandwich man nodded. "That's him. Took a sandwich and went that way." He waved his hand down the street. Julia got her sandwich and followed the road. It wasn't a bad road, the neighborhood wasn't the best, but the road itself ran straight with minimal potholes. She followed it until it reached 27th Street. Then she stopped dead.

Across that street was Maroni territory. Even now she could see a few men who looked a little too large, a little too nicely dressed for this neighborhood. And they saw her, hands falling nonchalantly to holsters. Eye peeked out from underneath fedoras, almost daring her to cross the street and give them a little fun. Maroni employed men who liked to shoot first and ask questions later. She made deliberate eye contact with them, raised her hands in an apology, and turned to walk back down the street.

Is Oswald had gone that way, and she had very little doubt that he had, she couldn't help him. What better place could he have gone? He was angry at Fish, who was angry at the Don for having her boy toy put through the wringer. Maroni could let him take his revenge on all of them. Even her. 27th Street had been the site of quite a few brawls when some Maroni kid of some Falcone goon crossed it and didn't know the territory lines. Then the other side would come roaring down with a vengeance, and there would be a few tense months before things would calm down enough.

She was not going to get into that.

Her walk back home was fast, everyone wanting to get off the streets in case the Balloonman came a calling. There was a security guard at the from desk in her building, he nodded to her when she walked in. The elevators opened, took her up, and let her off. The lock was sticking, but that wasn't that unusual. She was just thinking she'd have to let maintenance know when something slammed her head back against her apartment door. Her hand instantly went up to fend off whoever was attacking her, palm closing around a hand with a knife.

"Stop." She muttered, trying to push the knife away. Her other hand went to fumble for her own knife, but her attacker's fingernails clawed at her.

"That's not likely." A voice replied, its almost boyish pitch giving him away.

"Oswald?" The voice was familiar, but unrestrained now. "I knew it." Julia pushed at his hand a little harder, trying to use her hips to flip them around. But whatever skinny strength Oswald had was good, he was holding her in place. "I knew Gordon wouldn't kill you."

"Did you think that when you told him to shoot me?" Oswald pushed harder against her, knife almost to her throat. She tried to move her head around, anything to get that knife away from her throat.

Julia braced herself against the door and then threw herself on him. They tumbled to the floor, his knife quickly getting pinned between them. "I had to Oswald, by all rights you were already dead. I couldn't save you, and I didn't want to join you in that particular adventure."

"That doesn't-"

"I'm sorry!" Julia practically yelled it at him. "I'm sorry, okay? It was hard enough for me when I thought you were dead." It had been fairly hard, but not for the reasons he probably thought. Most of the underbosses knew she'd been seen with a snitch, that she'd been friends or something like it with him. Now she had to watch everywhere she stepped. And, well, it was a little hard having Oswald dead. He was fun, at least. Always willing to have a discussion. She was counting on that right now.

He quit struggling for a moment. "You knew I wasn't?"

"Jim Gordon is not that good a liar. Plus, your mother said she knew you were alive."

"She has always been rather intuitive. Why were you talking to her?" His voice faltered a little, hand moving between them to get at the knife. She tried to pin his wrist with a knee, close to rolling off of him as he struggled to bring it to bear.

"Falcone kept his promise, I was taking her a wreath and she kept telling me that you were alive and thought I was your girlfriend. I've got some of your clothes here." Julia shifted herself, just a little. Oswald quickly tried to bring the knife back up. She jammed a knee into his crotch, pinning him. He gave a little yelp, then tried to grab for her wrists. They tussled for a few more minutes, until he did something with his legs that quickly left her flat on her back with knife coming at her.

So she did what she could to hold it off while she played her final card. "Please, Oswald. I'm so sorry! Please!" She quickly looked at him. She blinked her eyes rapidly, praying that a couple of tears would come out. Through her eyelashes, she looked at him. His clothes were dirty, his hair unkempt. He looked like he'd been living on the street, he probably had. "Take your clothes, hell stay here if you need to!"

The knife paused. "What?"

"Take the guest bedroom, the other bathroom. I'll get you more clothes, I'll get you anything you need. I won't tell Falcone, or Gordon or Fish or anyone. You can eat my food, and do anything you want. Please."

Her begging seemed to work, no matter how bad a taste it left in her mouth. The knife went back into a pocket, a smile onto Oswald's face. Despite the teeth, he did have a rather nice face. Fine boned, a strong profile when he turned his head. "That's quite generous of you." He quickly stood up, a hand reaching down for her. "My dear friend Julia, always so concerned for my welfare."

If it rang rather ironic at the moment, she wasn't going to say anything. "Thank you, Oswald." She let him help her up, then pointed down a hallway. "It's down there. There's a bed and a bathroom across the hall." He turned to set off, but she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I am glad you're alive Oswald, even if you did just try and kill me."

He smiled, and she saw that light that he had fought against now ruled his eyes. "I have a feeling this will be a most fortuitous friendship."

Half of her smiled, and the other half was counting down how long she had to live.

She poured herself a shot of whiskey, and knocked it back. She'd barely made a dent in the bottle, which should tell everything about how often she drank. Trying to get killed by a guy you'd known for a few weeks could do that. Let alone a guy who'd managed to come back from the dead. So while cursing herself for not getting her knife out quickly enough, she heard the shower running. Oswald shows up alive, tries to kill her, and seemed pretty damn glad to see her begging on the floor.

Everything was teetering on the edge now. Carmine's empire was on the verge of crumbling, the underbosses ready to fight over the corpse like a flock of vultures and a pack of jackals. Then they would turn on each other and every little enforcer and their friends would shoot up the streets in the name of some low ranked thug.

The shower stopped.

She took another shot. Everything was going to go pear shaped in a hurry. But Oswald, he was different from the other underbosses. Purely psychotic for one, but she would stick by his side. The guy was good enough to pick the lock into her apartment and then try and knife her. She could respect that, the guy was clearly driven. By revenge for one, and she did not intend for him to come after her again. From now on, she'd be loyal to Oswald. That would be the way to come out of this thing. Oswald seemed to have a knack for evading death and she figured if she stuck close enough to him, it might just rub off on her. She heard footsteps coming down the hall, Oswald limping into view. He was smartly dressed, hair combed to the side but still hanging in his face.

She gave a smile. "Headed out?"

"I have a business proposition for James Gordon." He walked over to the table, picking up the shot glass. It dangled from his hands, shining dully in the low light. "And you are a big part of it. In order for everything to come to its conclusion, I'll need you to tell me what Falcone is up to. I can count on you for that, right?"

She smiled up at him. "I've learned my lesson, Oswald. I'm yours, all you have to do is command me."

"Such loyalty." Oswald set the glass down. "From such a good friend." He walked out the door, right leg limping to the side.

Julia considered filling the shot glass up again, but flipped it over and out the whiskey away.

That was not the answer.


	6. A Riddle Wrapped Inside A Mr. E. Nygma

Falcone was massively displeased. His councilman was dead, and he had lost a vote on the council. Julia sat in front of him as he took his anger out on a rather large Porterhouse in front of him. He spoke between mouthfuls of steak. "What do you know about the Arkham project?"

"The Waynes wanted a new asylum and our family wants new housing to expand our territory."

"And Maroni?"

"Something disgusting, I'm sure."

Carmine snorted at that. "Yeah, a garbage dump. Right in the middle of the city. Bright idea, isn't it?"

"Illuminating sir, absolutely illuminating." Julia couldn't help the sarcasm in her voice.

Don Falcone seemed to find it funny, chortling over his meal. "The police are trying to find him, but they're not hurrying as fast as I'd like them to. Pay a visit tomorrow, make sure they understand I want this finished." Apparently this called for gentle cajoling, coaxing them into it. If she failed, they'd get a visit from an enforcer who wasn't quite as genial.

"Of course, sir." Julia replied, then left. The restaurant was not far from her home, and the streets around it tended to clear out at night. Puddles gathered in the corners, reflecting the harsh glow of the streetlights. She'd been out of Gotham a few times, out to the country. She'd love to look at the stars, the massive bright belt that hung in the dark sky. The moonlight had washed the color out of everything, making everything feel clean. But here was something appealing about Gotham, the way the lights blotted out the stars and the moon because this city wouldn't tolerate lost time for some mere thing like sleep. Gotham was always moving, even if the moving wasn't exactly legal.

Oswald was already sequestered in his room when she got home, and she quickly fell asleep. Her door was locked and her knife on her bedside table. She may have sworn herself to Oswald, but she wasn't an idiot. The next morning, he was gone and she dressed up to the nines. A tailored olive coat that fit her snug on the waist, calf high boots, she was not ashamed to say that she looked damned good.

Gotham City's police headquarters was massive. Floors of offices, basements of holding cells, all of it teeming with bureaucracy. Julia bypassed the bullpen of officers, headed for the forensics office. The only occupant was a skinny guy in a suit. His glasses were rather thick, hair messy. His pale skin attested to how much time he spent inside, making Julia a bit proud of her darker complexion. She never had to tan, and she never really got that pale either. The guy was pale enough he could have gone to a costume party as a ghost and left the sheet at home. He looked up from his file when she stepped in. "May I help you?"

Julia stepped forward and swung the file around so she could read it. The papers inside detailed the wounds received by the councilman and his aide, plus another murder that happened last night. In front of Arkham, to boot. Someone was trying to send a message. She looked at the panic faced technician "Explain this."

"Who are you?"

"Somebody who needs information, now explain this," She squinted at his name tag. "Nygma. Or I should call in Detective Bullock to come beat it out of you?"

He quickly held up his hands. Spindly fingers, soft palms. Those weren't tough guy hands. "No need to act rashly. The wounds were all the same, same length, width, and more than likely made by the same weapon."

"Jenkins, his aide, and who's the third one?"

"Councilman Zeller. Got it in the shoulder, then got lit on fire in front of the old asylum." His eyes flashed behind his glasses as he spoke. Julia bit her lip at his expression. This was a guy who admired the people who made his work. Somebody would find himself some more entertaining work soon. Maybe with Fish. She always did have a thing for torture. "Nasty way to go, huh?"

"Hmm." Julia mumbled, leaving the office and its rather disturbing occupant. Jenkins had been in Falcone's pocket, Zeller in Maroni's. It was well known that the bosses kept their own councilmen, trying to advance their empires through only slightly illegal means. Both attacked by the same weapon. Someone was playing the two off of each other. Rather like her at the moment. She was fairly sure Oswald was in with Maroni, why else would he want information on Falcone? She made her way over, stopping at a desk. A shocked Jim Gordon looked up at her.

"Why are you here?" He fairly growled at her.

Julia reached down and picked up the coffee mug on his desk. Black and bitter, it burned her nostrils slightly. "You'd better clear this up in a hurry. Falcone is rather impatient to have this whole thing finished."

"Then tell him to stop hiring assassins."

"You'd be a fool to try and order the Don around. Just get the guy before he changes the vote anymore." She sipped his coffee, cringing at it. If this was all that man drank then she could see why he was always such a grump. Give her sweet over bitter any day.

Gordon stood up, "I'm not doing this for Falcone."

"Keep telling yourself that, James." She set his coffee back down. "And try some cream and sugar, that stuff's disgusting." She walked out, her phone already out to relay the information to the boss. Whoever Falcone hired was a dead man, and anyone near him too. Anthony answered and she told him what she'd learned. Oswald was in her apartment when she got back, despite the fact that she'd yet to give him a key. She quickly slid the spare out of a drawer, then tossed it to him.

It bounced onto the couch. Oswald looked over. "What is this?"

"Quit picking my lock, you'll break it some day."

Oswald slid the key into a pocket. She looked at him. He was out of his usual suit, in some kind of uniform. Judging by the apron thrown haphazardly across a table, he was working in a restaurant. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. "That's very generous of you."

"The last thing I need is someone catching you and calling the cops." She pulled out a glass and poured herself a glass of orange juice. "You hear about the councilman murders?"

"Did Falcone order them?"

"Only the second, far as I can tell. Maroni must have ordered the first. This is all about Arkham, that damn asylum's been a problem since it shut down." She put the glass on a side table. "Best option would be tearing it down. Then call a priest to exorcise that place."

He actually chuckled at that. "You're religious?"

"Baptized, don't really attend. But that old asylum, right in the middle of town? That's a recipe for a horror movie if I've ever heard one."

Oswald was in a rather good mood the rest of the night, helpfully suggesting Chinese takeout when she found out she had nothing for an easy dinner. The delivery boy was fairly quick, and they sat down to a meal of Moo Goo Gai Pan and fried rice. Oswald was quite skilled with his chopsticks, spearing bits of chicken and peas with ease. Julia fumbled with hers before she set them down. "Screw it." She got herself a fork and began eating as if she had to prove herself master of the Chinese food. She may have insulted the inventor of chopsticks, said a few nasty things about his mother.

She chose to ignore Oswald's snicker.

The nest day ended fairly early, the bosses handing over the money easily. Falcone could have cared less, he'd been on the phone with the Mayor's office almost all day. She was back home by the afternoon, a book in her hand as she settled down to read. About fifty pages through, Oswald walked in. He was dressed in a new suit, and looked quite spiffy. A pink box was underneath his arm.

Oswald set the box on the counter, fumbling in a drawer for something. Julia sniffed, fresh cannoli, and by God was she hungry. Her hand had just reached the lid when he looked at her. "Don't eat those."

She snatched her hand back. "Sorry." He must have found whatever he was looking for, because he took his cannoli and left. Julia flicked on the television, waiting for the news. The lead story was the Mayor's decision on the Arkham issue. He wound up taking the chicken-shit way out. Falcone got his low income housing, Maroni his landfill and the Asylum renovation. This was a recipe for disaster. A massive dump in the middle of town, located next to a soon to be slum and complemented by a nuthouse. Said nuthouse wouldn't even be of good quality. Maroni would never splurge beyond the bare necessities. The place would be barely better than it was now. There was no way this wouldn't end in a massive disaster.

Oswald came back hours later with a massive duffel bag, bulky and full of something. The bag quickly disappeared into his room. Oswald reappeared, coming to sit on the couch. His knees bent up, bouncing slightly. They both watched the end of the news report, then tuned out the weather. He spoke first. "And how does Don Falcone find this situation?"

"He's absolutely livid. This whole thing just divides open territory in half, and that's not going to solve anything." Julia raised her eyebrows. "I take it it would be too much for you to tell me how Maroni feels?"

Oswald smiled, "Our deal is not a two way street. Keep me informed and we'll be good."

"Yes, Mr. Cobblepot." Julia nodded, looking into her lap. Whatever scheme Oswald was running, it was massive and she needed to make sure she made it through. The television light flashed across the both of them. She closed her eyes, sighing. "Sorry."

"Your question was not unneeded, just ill timed. Another opinion is always good to have."

"Is everything good with you, though? You're not going to get yourself killed, again?"

"Everything is going as I have planned it, you do not need to concern yourself."

Julia snorted, "I dealt with you dying once, I don't want to deal with it again."

His hand was rather heavy on hers, fingers curling in a way that could have caged or caressed. "You won't have to."


	7. Command Me, O Lord

Julia didn't pay much attention to the current drug trend. The family dealt in the usuals. Cocaine, weed, crack, oxycodone. But this Viper stuff was getting out of control. Super strong people running around stealing ATMs and drinking Gotham out of milk? That was beyond weird. So after making her stops she'd gone back to the apartment and hidden herself. Nobody was getting her ice cream, she'd guard that with her life. After a day of walking the city, making sure that the underbelly paid its dues on time and when needed, she needed her salted caramel sweets. The security at the building had been upped, but she'd made sure that the guards knew that Oswald was allowed through.

When Oswald showed back up, he'd had the shit beat out of him. He was bleeding from his nose, his lip looked busted and his eyes were even darker. Some maternal instinct must have taken over, for Julia had her arm around him and was hustling him to the sink so that he wouldn't bleed all over the carpet. She quickly passed him a scrunched up paper towel to stem his nose bleed, then took a wet rag and dabbed at his cheek, which was covered in crusted blood. "Oswald, good God. What happened?"

He mumbled something, trying to move his head away when she wiped up blood. His black hair, usually so slick, was mussed and bloody.

She grabbed his chin and forced his head back down. "Goddamnit, hold still."

"Hurts." He hissed, groaning when he moved his busted lip. With his cheek clean she moved up to his forehead. It was bloodier, but a bit fresher. It came off easily, the rag turning pink.

"Don't talk, it'll only make it worse." She wiped the last of the blood from his forehead, the cut was very small but head wounds bled like a bitch. The rag went into the sink, and she quickly put some ice in a towel and held it up to his lip. He tried to move away from the cold, but she put a hand behind his head and forced him back up against it. Suddenly she was aware of how close they were, the fact that one of his hands had drifted to cover hers. Julia felt awkward in her skin, and all she wanted to do was to step back and give him the ice and leave. But his hand was strong, and their faces were close, and what happened was natural.

His lips were cold, and he tasted of blood and tea and the faintest hint of tobacco. The cold compress was almost forgotten when he brought his hands up to cup her face. His fingers were long enough to brush against her ears, and suddenly she was very glad she was gripping the back of his head. The kiss lasted all of a moment, and then they had separated, foreheads leaning against each other. Oswald's lips twitched, "That made it hurt more."

Julia huffed a little laugh. "It'll feel better by tomorrow."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean for that to happen."

"There's nothing to forgive, you didn't do anything wrong." She told him as she pressed the compress back against his lip. He brought a hand up to take it from her, his fingers brushing her forehead. She followed their path, coming away with blood on her fingertips. She wiped it off with the rag, then went to the bathroom to get him some aspirin. Oswald had put the compress in the sink, working his lip a little.

The aspirin went down on the counter. "Better?"

"Much, although the Spanish Inquisition should have employed you." He replied, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and popping a few aspirin into his mouth.

"Haha. Very funny." Julia couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. "You didn't seem to mind part of it." And then she could feel his hand on her waist, another rising up to play with her hair. He didn't say anything, just stroked her waist. His movement is a little hesitant, as if he was expecting her to yell at him any moment. But she leaned her head back into his hands, eyes closed as he played with her hair.

His hands were gone and he's shuffled away. "Good night, Julia."

God he was awkward, but interesting. "Good night, Oswald."

The next day was her late one, she had to go across town and then get back here to get ready for the casino pickup. That was her biggest pickup of the week, and she liked to dress up for it. Some sexy dress, heels, blow her hair out and tame it with an entire bottle of hairspray. Which meant getting a phone call from an unknown number as she made her way through midtown was not what she needed. She flicked her phone open, her voice terse. "Who is this?"

"Julia," It was Oswald's voice, tinny from the speaker. "Don't go to the casino tonight."

"I've got my pickup there tonight."

"Don't go."

"Oswald-"

A massive burst of air sounded, like he was snorting in frustration. "You said all I had to do was command you. Well, now I am. Do not go to the casino tonight. Call in sick, stay in the house. Understand?"

Julia could feel her heart plummet down to her stomach. Her mouth was dry. He sounded so serious, something must be up. "Y-yes Oswald. I understand." He hung up, and she quickly called Anthony.

"Julia, what now?" Anthony sounded pissed, but when didn't he sound that way?

She made her voice high pitched, like her nose had been blocked up. Which she actually accomplished by pinching her nose closed. "I've got a cold, some homeless guy sneezed on me. I can't make the casino run tonight, sorry."

"Eat some chicken soup. I'll send Christopher over to pick it up. Kid's been itching for a job."

"Thanks Anthony." She replied, tucking her phone back away. She didn't need to make anymore stops, so she grabbed a cup of coffee and hoofed it home. It was rather strange to be in this late, and part of her told her that she should go down to the casino and check on everything. She set about distracting herself. The television was on, she had a book in her hands, and a bowl of ice cream in front of her that those Viper-heads were not going to get. Her eyelids were just starting to droop over her book when the phone rang. It was Anthony. "Hello?"

"Those sons of bitches hit us!" Anthony fairly roared, even through the phone.

He let off a string of Italian curses so loud that Julia held the phone away from her head until he switched back to English. She brought it back up. "Care to explain?"

"Bunch of Maroni goons, came by and hit the casino tonight."

"What about the guards, all the precautions?"

"Somebody let them in the back. They shot poor Chris while he was at the craps table. Few of the other guys too, the whole place is going to need new felt." Anthony sounded upset, over Chris or the felt she was't sure. "You're lucky that guy sneezed on you. Drop him a hundred tomorrow."

Julia was having trouble working her tongue to spit out the words. "Yeah, I will." With that she hung up her phone, and drew her knees up to her chin. She'd been close to dying before, some shootout or something down the line. Despite what movies and books would have you believe, you didn't remember every single detail. Usually everything just passed in a massive blur, and she would shake for an hour afterward. So she shook, and she may have cried a little, and she stayed that way until she heard the rasp of a key in a lock. The door swung open, revealing the always impeccably dressed Oswald.

It may have not been wise, but she didn't care at the moment. She practically flew to Oswald, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her head in his neck. All that came out was a repeated. "Oh my God, you saved my life. Thank you, thank you..." She could feel his hands rise a little, fingers around her waist.

She didn't expect him to try and soothe her. What she expected was for him to make some comment about how he couldn't lose a piece like her, that she was needed for more information. But one of his hands drifted higher, curling around the side of her head. His fingers brushed at her tears, his voice rather low. "It's alright. Don't cry, it's all fine."

She hiccuped for a couple of minutes, but Oswald wouldn't let her back out of his arms. Once her breathing had returned to something that didn't resemble a deer running for its life, she managed to talk. "That would have been me, they would have shot me."

"I assure you, I would have never put you in that situation."

She brought a shaky hand up to his face, caressing his cheekbone. "Thank you, Oswald." She pressed her lips to his, and he responded by curling his arm around her waist to press her closer to him. There may have been a gasp of surprise in there, but it was quickly drowned out by a groan when she tugged on his bottom lip. He was rather nervous, their teeth clacked a couple of times but he proved to be more than able to make up for it with his hands. They moved from her waist up her back, then back down again and a little farther than her waist. When she pulled away briefly, he followed. She brough a hand up, pushing lightly against his chest. He pulled back, confusion in his eyes. Her lips didn't seem to want to work. "I need to breathe."

He blinked a few times, his blue eyes surprisingly bright in the darkness. "Of course." His hands fell away from her, and he moved toward the couch.

She caught up to him, put his hands back around her, and then joined him on the couch. Julia positioned herself so that she rested her head on his chest, even though that meant she had to drape herself across the arm of the sofa. She could feel him try and twitch away, but she grabbed his lapels to stop him. "Just hold me, no sex or anything tonight." She pressed herself against his chest, inhaling the scent of tobacco and alcohol that clung to him. "I just want you to hold me."

His hands were hesitant, whatever passion that had been ignited earlier having fled. But the feeling of his hands on her, his arms around her, it made her feel safe. Despite the things that Oswald had done, he'd saved her. So what if he was some strange form of security blanket, she wasn't shaking anymore, and she could feel herself nodding off. His fingers brushed her hair across her forehead, and that was the last thing she remembered.


	8. Valse des Cygnets

Carmine wasn't around headquarters when she went to drop off the week's take. Everyone was still a little sore over the casino hit, and she would have expected him to be in to reassure everyone that their operations were under control. Anthony was gone too, probably serving as a driver for the Don. So she looked to Jack, the accountant who usually handled the money after it came down. "Hey, where is everybody?"

Jack snatched the envelopes from her hand, quickly writing down names and amounts. "Carmine's got a new girl, he's been wanting to show her a good time."

"Hell of a time for him to be worrying about that." Julia said as she watched Jack count out the bills.

The counting stopped for a moment. "Don't let him hear you say that, he's taken a real shine to this one." She kept her snort of disbelief to herself. Carmine kept a girl on his arm, usually trading them out every few months. He chose beauties, and they knew why they were chosen. If any of them wanted to bring emotion into it, well, they'd be the only party offering it. So for Carmine to take a shine to a girl? It was odd, to say the least.

But, she'd prefer to keep her head and keep her opinions to herself.

Julia came home, threw her bag onto a table, and looked at Oswald. He was still in his usual suit, working at something on the dining table. She took off her coat, hanging it by the door. "Hey, get ready. We're headed out."

"I-I can't go right now."

"Yeah, you can. Trust me. You'll love it." Julia called from the bedroom. She pulled a long dress from her closet, a pair of heels to go with it. A string of false pearls went around her neck, deep red lipstick on her lips. A quick powder on her rather aquiline nose. She came back out, collected her coat, purse, and a very reluctant Oswald. A taxi was quickly hailed and drove them to the theater district. A massive marquee advertised the opening performance of Swan Lake. Bright lights flashed and dimmed, other shows trying to draw in the crowd. It was a very well dressed crowd that moved towards the doors, women in pearls and men in tuxedos. Julia was glad that she had worn the emerald sheath dress that she had. Oswald didn't even look out of place among them, looking up at the sign and lights with a bit of awe. Churning around the curb were old money and new money, all coveting a single title.

Patron of the arts.

The biggest ones had been the Waynes, but now they were gone and the title was open. So women in fur stoles and diamonds that had histories as long as some small countries mixed with boys in Armani who were the first in their family to enjoy wealth and the leisure that came with it. Pearls shone, cologne wafted, and innumerable heels clicked across the sidewalk. Everyone was here to be seen and to see everyone. Strangely absent was the younger crowd, but who wouldn't lock themselves inside when the Spirit of the Goat was stalking the streets? Everyone was looking for him. And a woman in a green dress accompanied by a limping man was far beneath their notice. The Falcones and the Maronis tended to avoid the arts as a whole, a far too feminine pursuit for men of their caliber.

Thank God Julia could count herself as a woman. Feminine pursuits were all well and good for her.

"Come on. I told you that they were opening soon." Julia reached out and grabbed Oswald's shoulder, steering him through the doors. A huge chandelier hung over the foyer, crystals refracting the light around the room. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the carpet plush and the furniture velvet and overstuffed. The light was warm, the surroundings cozy. The theater housed the Gotham City Ballet and Opera Company. A few decades ago the place had been done all in Rococo style, all pastels with white and gold accents. It had been redone, all the light and fluffy being stripped away. Julia walked up to the brass ticket counter. She had reserved a pair of private box seats. They were just off the center, and had a perfect view of the stage. She'd reserved the second seat after Oswald had professed an admiration for the ballet. Her plan had always been to bring him here, regardless of his current status.

They cost quite a bit, but she had set aside for it. She always set aside for opening night. Oswald was quite excited by the time they reached them. A bottle of wine was on a small table, a couple of glasses by it. The theater had been built in the 1800's, being renovated along the years. One thing that hadn't changed were the large boxes, and the theater providing refreshment for them. Hence, the wine. He quickly poured her a glass. "I really must thank you, this is such an amazing sight."

Julia raised her glass to him once he sat down. "Just wait until the curtain rises."

Oswald turned to look at the massive crimson velvet hanging, embroidered in glittering gold thread with the emblem of Gotham City. He spoke, his voice reverent. "I've always wanted to come here. My mother would tell me about the shows, how everything was so rich and sumptuous. We could never afford to go."

She considered the dark red in her glass. "Well, you're here now."

Fifty musicians were tuning in the pit, the lights dim over the seats. He sipped his own wine, "I would never have thought it to be so large. Mother always made it seem so intimate."

There was his mother again. "She must have told you a lot about it."

"I saw her today." He spun his wine in the glass. "What she would give to be here now."

"I'll get another seat, she can join us for the next one."

"No!" Oswald almost jerked himself out of the chair. "She wouldn't take kindly to you."

"Well, she's already called me a painted slut and a hussy, I'm curious what else she's got."

He gave a little groan, chewing on a lip. "No wonder she thought I was off with you, I'd forgot you'd met her."

"I take it you paid a little visit today?"

"Just so she wouldn't think I was dead. I do love that woman, she didn't need that." Oswald set his wine down, looking up as the lights dimmed and then brightened. There was a flurry of activity below them as people raced to their seats. The orchestra's tuning became louder, and finally the lights dimmed all the way. The curtain pulled back, the movement slow enough to mesmerize the eye. A painted screen and a few potted trees gave the illusion of a park, filled with dancing young men. A couple young village maids and a jester joined them. The dancers were talented, especially the young man they'd chosen to play Prince Siegfried.

The story went on, as stories tend to do. Siegfried left to go hunt swans for his wedding, only to come upon the ethereal Odette, that poor maiden cursed to be a swan during the day and a woman at night. As with most stories like this, they fall in love and he swears to break her curse and kill the sorcerer who held her, Rothbart. Oh, but Siegfried is a bit of an idiot and instead declares his love for Odile, Rothbart's daughter. Odette kills herself, and Siegfried only sees her long enough to declare his love before he drowns himself in a lake. The flock of swan maidens watch as the two ascend to heaven, too pure for the earth.

This is, after all, a Russian story and Russians love their tragedies.

Oswald had his hand on her knee the whole time, rapturously watching the stage. His eyes would dart to hers, to gauge her reaction. Once, she locked eyes with him and smiled. He returned it, so earnest in his enjoyment it made her want to grin even wider. Occasionally his hand would shift up to her thigh, then stoke back down. But they were both swept away by the music, the movement, the story. Sometimes she would murmur the story to him, and he would speak softy in return. Oswald proved to understand a great deal, his eyes widening as the dancers dared to go even higher, to stretch their bodies beyond what they should have been able to. Finally, the curtain fell and the audience rose en masse to applaud. Some of the people in the front row had brought roses, which they threw to the dancers as they came out for their curtain calls. Again and again they came, until the curtain could rise no more.

Julia reached over for the shell shocked Oswald. "I told you that you would like it."

He grasped her hand, his fingers gentle. "I do not think I will ever see it's equal."

They began to move towards the foyer, hands still clasped. Julia pointed out upcoming shows in the playbill. "Just wait until the opera starts up. Pagliacci, La Boheme, Carmen. It's amazing." A line of cabs was waiting outside, and the sun was beginning to rise. The show had been late, and she wasn't exactly sure how long it ran. So they got into a cab, and Julia started when Oswald spoke.

"GCPD headquarters, please."

"Oswald, what the hell are you doing?" She hissed, cutting her head across to stare at him. He steadfastly refused to answer, even as she needled him over and over. The cab rolled to a stop, finding a space between the cop cars on the curb.

At last he lifted her hand to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a kiss. "Trust me."


	9. Conversations Over Dinner

Fish's club was empty when she showed up, something that was quite unusual. She wasn't here to see Fish though, her collections had been done and she was here on the Don's business. While she waited she perused the club, admiring the whorls in the grain of the dark wood on the tables, the scuff marks on the stage from the various acts. Julia even got up onto the stage, taking a moment to look out and imagine an audience. The area in front of the stage was small enough that the audience would seem intimate, but the club extended beyond. She'd taken to pacing in front of the bar when her business showed up.

When Butch walked through the door, she full on bitch-slapped him. He looked stunned for a second and she used that moment to push him back against a wall. Her knife was out and up against his neck. "Are you fucking insane?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I know it's hard to get through that thick skull and into that peanut sized thing you call a brain, but kidnapping nuns and chaining them under a bridge is not a bright idea. Shocking, right?" The Don had not been pleased about that. Neither had Julia. While not religious, she respected the women's decision to give up their worldly possessions because of the strength of their faith. She wished her faith could be that strong sometimes.

Butch pushed back against her, "Falcone said to stop their shipments, he didn't say how."

"You start threatening nuns then everyone gets involved. News, police, the Church." She growled as she took a step back. Butch shook his arms out, hand rising to the little knick she had made on his neck. It wasn't even bleeding.

"That hurt."

"Cry me a river."

He dropped his hand, a smile on his face. "I like you, you've got that fire." He stepped toward her. "You seeing anyone? Pretty, tough, there's got to be someone. But, hey, maybe there isn't. And I'd certainly like to put myself forward."

Her knife was against his gut. "You touch me, you die."

The distinctive clicking of designer heels drew their attention. Fish Mooney always dressed to impress, and she was certainly impressing now. A scale patterned top that barely covered her and a matching skirt. Her nails had been done, long and painted. Julia couldn't help the glare that came into her eyes. Fish responded in kind. "Honey, what have you been up to?"

"Butch here was just getting a little message from Don Falcone."

"Butch, leave." Fish flicked her fingers, sending the bumbling mook off to the back. Fish gestured to an empty table, "Let's discuss this like civilized people, shall we?" Julia sat down reluctantly. Fish had a habit of throwing things and screaming when she didn't get her way. But the woman across from her merely batted her eyes. "I take it you know, then?"

"I have no idea what you're referring to." Julia replied, pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. She took a sip.

"Penguin's alive, that little rat is over with Maroni." Fish's voice dropped down, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

Julia did her best to hide her knowledge. So she pretended to choke on her water and spend a few minutes coughing. "What?"

"Your little Cobblepot is selling us out. He knows everything about our operations, with him there we're all just sitting ducks." Fish practically seethed, and Julia knew that he attitude would boil the water in front of her if it was possible. Everything about the woman was pure rage, the quick movements of her eyes, the way she would drag her fingers across the table.

Julia recovered from her fake choking. "So Gordon didn't finish him. That son of a bitch." Fish refused to reply, and Julia knew it was her time to go. She drew on her coat and hurried away, pulling her umbrella out of the stand. After Oswald's rather miraculous return, he'd quickly demanded his umbrella and sunglasses back. She'd been more than willing to acquiesce but she found she missed that umbrella. The little spike at the top, the smooth wood handle, all she wanted was something with a bit more color. Of course, the world had to laugh at her by only offering them in black, although Fate threw her a bit of a bone by hiding a navy one among them. So she popped her navy umbrella against the afternoon drizzle, heading for home. Her phone started buzzing, and she rolled her eyes before answering it. "Hi, Harvey."

"Jewels! You need to come out with me tonight." Harvey already sounded halfway drunk, his voice slurring into silence.

She snorted. "And why would that be?"

"Get you out of your house, 'specially if dumbass Gordon comes calling."

"That's not a very nice way to talk about your partner."

"He's got a warrant for you, guy's dumb enough he might decide to serve it." Harvey sounded deadly serious for a moment. Julia couldn't help but pause and duck underneath a florist's awning. For all that she worked for the mob and everything she had done, she never wanted, and never had, set foot in even a holding cell. She'd never felt cuffs on her wrists and shackles on her ankled. Never been searched or brought in. To be completely honest, the loss of control that came with those situations would make her start shivering and want to run away.

As she was having a little breakdown another tone beeped on her phone. "Hold on a minute, Harv." She pressed the button to transfer the call. "Anthony, how's it going?"

"Need you out at Falcone's place, for the night. Need to keep an eye on someone."

"I'll be there." She replied, then picked up Harvey's call. "I've got a thing tonight, sorry Harvey."

"Your loss, Jewels." He said, then hung up. A cab was quickly hailed, driving her to the outskirts of Gotham where Falcone's rather palatial estate was. The place was beautiful, old trees lining the gravel drive that wound up to the house, armed guards watching every car that came in. The cab dropped her off in front, and she was quickly buzzed through the gates. Carmine was waiting in the entryway, his only concession to the comforts of home an unbuttoned blazer. Otherwise, he was her always put together Don.

She walked up, giving him a smile. "Don Falcone, it was certainly a pleasure to hear from you."

"I hope I didn't draw you away from any plans."

"Of course not, I am always open for you." She stated as he walked her through the house, stopping outside the dining room.

Carmine turned to her. "I need you to watch the girl in here for tonight, she's an insurance policy that I'm expecting will pay off. Victor Zsasz will relieve you in the morning." Julia couldn't help the little shudder of revulsion that passed through her. If there was one person Falcone used that she didn't like, he was it. His bald head, rather snakelike features, and sheer masochistic tendencies did not endear him to her.

But she smiled and nodded, walked through the door, and heard Carmine shut and lock it behind her. Spread out on the table was a massive spread, salad, fish, poultry, meat and dessert. It was enough to make her mouth water as she sat in a chair across from the other occupant. Her hair was blonde, her eyes red rimmed, and she looked at Julia as is she was Satan himself. She gave her a smirk as she helped herself to the Caesar salad. "Not what you were expecting?"

"Who are you?" Despite her appearance, her voice was firm.

"Julia, pleasure to make your acquaintance." She stood up, offering a hand for a shake.

"Barbara."

"Well don't just sit there, I can guarantee you won't get poisoned here."

"I won't eat with a murderer."

"Honey, there's blood on my hands but no death. Eat your food, don't just stand there." Julia finished her speech with a wave of her fork. "We can talk as much as you want, but you have to eat." Julia knew the shaking that was in Barbara's shoulders, the red around her eyes. The girl was in shock, and food would help. Almost automatically she began to eat some salad, swallowing like it was an effort. "Good, now why exactly is Falcone so interested in you?"

Her voice was small, but full of affection. "Jim."

"Gordon? I've met him, far too righteous for this town."

"He's a good man. That's what this city needs." Barbara seemed to be regaining a little fire, so Julia put a bit of soup in front of each of them. It was a simple clam chowder, warm and hearty. It seemed to do Barbara even better, because she proceeded to glare at Julia when she could. Over salmon she spoke again. "Why are you here?"

"Make sure you don't run during the night, or anything else."

"I meant with Falcone. He doesn't really have women around him." Barbara looked like she was particularly interested in that point. "I mean, I saw his girlfriend but you aren't like that."

"No, I'm not." Julia replied as she reached for a plate of lamb chops. She was going to have to loosen her metaphorical belt after all this. "But I'm not going to bare my soul to you either. Suffice to say, I saw an opportunity and took it. It's worked out pretty well so far."

"There's got to be more than that."

"There is, but you're not going to hear it." If there was one thing that pissed off Julia, it was someone digging into her mind. Her views of psychologists would fill quite a few pages in a book, mainly with expletives. The meal continued from lamb to steak, to chicken and finally to a few light pastries. Julia felt absolutely stuffed, even though she'd only pecked at each course. Barbara was starting to look tired, and Julia walked over to the massive fireplace built into the wall. It was gas, and lit with a single click of the striker. A lounge had been set up in front of it, a blanket and pillow provided. She gestured for Barbara to come over. "Sleep, everything will work out in the morning."

Barbara was obviously tired, but she looked at Julia before she sat down. "Why are you doing this?"

She couldn't help but snort. "If someone asks you if you were mistreated by Don Falcone, what can you say? That he fed you a full meal, gave you a warm place to sleep?"

"I was kidnapped."

"And you're being held in the nicest of facilities." Julia threw the blanket over the girl, setting herself up in one of the dining room chairs. A few books were scattered nearby, nothing too scandalous but enough to entertain her until morning. She considered calling Oswald, telling him where she was and what she was doing. She dismissed the thought shortly after. If Oswald was concerned, or if bothered to concern himself, he would have called already. She did miss his presence though, every since they kissed they'd grown a little closer. There hadn't been any major romantic overtures, but suddenly it wasn't strange for Oswald to sit close to her, or throw an arm around her shoulders. If she drew her fingers through his hair, he would shiver slightly and lean into her touch. That was what it was, touch. They would touch each other now, and it felt good. He was something warm, solid, and she had to admit she enjoyed the way he would stiffen before relaxing into her touch.

But Oswald wasn't here, and she picked the hardest chair she could so she would stay awake. Morning dawned gray and wet, and Barbara was still asleep. The door unlatched, Zsasz waiting outside. Julia shook Barbara's shoulder, then pushed her through the doors. There was no way she'd leave the girl alone with Zsasz, he'd probably cut off an ear for the honor of being in his presence. Luckily the kitchen was occupied, Lisa was making muffins. Lisa was a fairly nice looking girl, hair done in large waves and dressed in a rather conservative white shirt. Barbara was put into a chair, and Julia let herself out through the back.

She'd be sticking around for one of those muffins.

But for now, she popped her umbrella and went to the Don's chicken coop. Carmine loved his birds, some of them had pedigrees that people usually reserved for their dogs and some were mutts that somehow wandered onto his property. But he loved them all the same, and occasionally he'd give her some of the eggs. Damn, those birds laid good eggs. Occasionally there would be a few chicks, and she'd coddled them when she'd been able to. She was petting one when she heard steps from behind her. A very familiar umbrella was walking up from the trees. She smiled. "You've tipped your hand, eh, Oswald?"

"Astute as ever, Julia." He replied, stopping just short of the rise the coop was on. "But if you would kindly excuse yourself for a few moments?"

"Of course, Mr. Cobblepot." She smiled, walking past him to hide herself behind a screening bush. She heard a brief conversation, Carmine and Oswald speaking like old friends. Julia couldn't help but smirk, walking out when Carmine went back to the house. Oswald made his way back down the rise, umbrella held high. She mirrored him. "You magnificent bastard."

Oswald's smile was wide, stretching his scabbed over cheek. "I aim to please."


	10. Harbor Street Market

The week had gone fairly smooth, Gordon hadn't shown back up and Falcone's coffers were filling as quickly as ever. Her dear roommate had been calmer lately, more willing to sit and talk with her. Nothing important had been discussed, but they'd gotten a bit closer. Her phone started ringing, and she did even speak before she heard Oswald's voice. She could hear the strain in it through the phone, "Bring me some gauze, please." He sounded like he was actually hurt, hissing a little. "I'm already home, but can you please come deal with this?"

He broke off for a minute and all she caught were vague words. "Mooney...damn...son of a..."

"Hold on." Julia rolled her eyes, ducking into a pharmacy and cleaning out enough supplies for an industrial first aid kit. She payed, then ran home. Oswald was in the kitchen, a towel held around his hand. The sink was running, the water in the bottom tinged pink. She set the pharmacy bag down on the counter, taking Oswald's hand in her own. "Let me see."

He rolled his hand over, exposing the bloody hole in it. "You can deal with it, right?"

It was rather large, and very bloody, but hopefully she could help. "I think so. Here, let's try and stem the bleeding a little." She picked up the towel, applying a little pressure to the edges. Oswald jerked back, and she pulled him forward. Damn, but he was touchy about it. She she held his hand, and slowly the bleeding ebbed. She tore open a gauze pad, then wrapped a bandage around his hand, across his hand and between his thumb. She looked up at him, "You've got to stop getting yourself beat up like this."

"I'm not trying to get hurt." He grumbled, letting her pull him to the couch. She sat flush against him, laying her legs across his lap. His good hand immediately went to stroke them, reveling in the freshly shaven smoothness. She almost laughed when he bent his nose down to sniff at them, catching a whiff of the lotion she'd used. He quite enjoyed the scent, but absolutely refused to use it when he's offered it to him.

She giggled when he drew a finger along her calf. "At least I'm able to fix you back up."

His fingers inched farther up her leg. "Yet another of your talents."

Julia looked at the coffee table, looking at the magnificent brooch thrown carelessly across a magazine. The sharp pin that should secure it was marred by a thin line of blood. She picked up the brooch, twirling it in her hands. "The instrument of your torture?"

"Yes, unfortunately Miss Mooney was not as pleased with it as I had hoped."

"Well, it is rather large." Julia traced her fingers around the metal knots, then looked at him. His expression was unhappy to say the least. "Got it, not helping. Well, maybe your mother would like it. She seems to enjoy," She paused for a moment, trying to find a nice way of saying gaudy. "Unique items like this."

His fingers dipped behind her knee, something he liked to do because it made her stretch her back and relax into him. "Mother does have a very eclectic taste."

"Well, how about we take this and go down to the Harbor Street Market and pick her up a few more things? She might get a little bored all alone in that apartment."

"That sounds, interesting to say the least." Oswald replied, and they quickly collect coats and umbrellas and set off. The Harbor Street Market was on of Gotham's oldest establishments, an open air flea market that set up every day right by the fish market. Florists offered their wares next to fishmongers hawking their groupers and yuppies slinging their products at anyone with some money.

So Julia and Oswald took a cab to the fish harbor, across the river from the main port. Container ships were unloaded and reloaded and it wasn't unusual for a massive foghorn to break through the cries of seagulls as a new ship pulled in to have a brief moment of respite before steaming out again. The area around the market was bustling, stalls set up along the path in, people who didn't want to pay the rent to sell in the actual market. Buskers and beggars collected around the entrances, outside the seating areas for little restraints, all trying to get a little charity. The crowd moving in was as diverse as it could be, college kids and fishmongers and every type in between. Julia loved visiting the market, and she was more than excited to drag Oswald along with her.

Despite his much maligned minuscule moniker, Oswald was not actually a short person. That was actually rather useful in this situation, for she had something to mark their progress. All she had to do was look up and spot his head and catch up. While she was purchasing a very colorful bouquet for Mrs. Kapelput he had wandered over to a little bodega like area. So she bustled over with her bouquet and quickly looped her arm through his. He looked up from the apples he had been examining. "Flowers?"

"I swear, you meant need to learn when a woman needs flowers."

"Actually, your flowers send a conflicting message. Yellow carnations imply disdain, the lavender extreme hatred, and the marigold pain or grief." He ticked them all off, touching the buds in turn. "Mother would be able to tell in an instant."

Julia snorted. "You're coming with me then, if your mother likes flower symbols you'll need to pick them out."

He didn't seem to mind as she tugged on him, bringing him over to a florist's stand. The girl working the counter was understanding, especially when Oswald offered to buy a second bouquet to make up for the trouble. For his mother he selected elderflowers, pink carnations, and honeysuckle. He passed the bouquet to Julia and quickly shunted her off while he selected the second. She wandered back to the bodega, bought a five pound bag of apples, and planned to throw the damn thing at him when he showed back up. Of course he was carrying the second bouquet and his umbrella, plus he was limping and her resolve crumbled. So with flowers and apples they continued their wandering, and Julia ducked into a store her mother frequented when she still lived in Gotham. It specialized in fabrics, patterns, and thread for embroidery.

She wasn't sure if Oswald's mother embroidered, but considering that the woman seemed to live in Victorian times and had passed it down to Oswald, there was a fairly good chance she did.

So she bought fabric and thread, hoops, patterns, needles and scissors. Everything a woman interested in this craft could want. Oswald stood there watching her running around, bringing up more items for the clerk to ring up, his eyes jumping from one item to the next. He spoke once they left the store, Julia now carrying a very large paper bag in addition to the apples and flowers. "You sew?"

"My mother does, she taught me a little. Never got really interested, but I can manage a seam."

"Quite strange, a seamstress mobster."

"You can be a shit, sometimes." Julia shook her head as they got into a taxi and drove to Mrs. Kapelput's apartment. The stairs proved a bit of a difficult climb for Oswald, but she kept with him, even though she could have been up and back down by the time they reached her floor.

Oswald gestured for her to stay out of sight. "I'm going to calm Mother down a little, she might throw something if you came in with me." He thrust the second bouquet at her, then rapped sharply on the door.

He was whisked in and the door shut quickly.

Julia stood there for a moment, taking in the surroundings. It was dark, quiet, and she was fairly sure she could see some mold growing quite contentedly on a radiator in the corner. In all she was probably waiting ten minutes before Oswald opened the door and gestured for her to come in. She left the second bouquet and the apples by the door. He took the flowers and held them out to the woman on the sofa. "Mom, you remember Julia. Look, she even brought you flowers."

His mother glared at her. "Slut."

"It's very nice to see you again, Mrs. Kapelput." Julia replied, putting on a smile. "Oswald actually helped me pick out the flowers."

"Such a darling boy, and so good to his poor mama." Her attention seemed to flip, turning right to Oswald and accepting the flowers happily.

"I actually brought you something as well, here." Julia passed her the bag of sewing supplies. Now was the time to play one of her cards. Obvious flattery should help smooth things. "A woman of quality such as yourself should always have something beautiful to make."

Mrs. Kapelput looked like she wanted to throw her nose in the air. "I have not done this in a long time."

"Your fingers will remember." Julia said, moving forward a little. She could see the brooch, lovingly replaced in its wrappings and set on a table. At least someone would enjoy that thing. Oswald was sitting by his mother, glancing between the two of them. "Mine still do."

"You tell her to say these things?" Mrs. Kapelput turned to glare at Oswald.

"No, Mom."

"I don't approve of her as girlfriend. Far too Italian."

"Oh, I'm not his girl-"

"Mom, she's just a friend."

"Still too Italian. Get out!" Mrs. Kapelput stood, shooing Julia away before reaching for a magazine to swat with. Apparently obvious flattery had failed this time. Julia backpedaled, slipping out the door before any of her blows could land. Oswald came out a few moments later, looking a little disheveled.

Immediately her hands reached out to straighten his lapels, smooth his jacket. "I don't think your mother will ever like me."

"She doesn't like any woman I've brought back."

"Have there been many?" His hand grabbed hers, his grip tight. Julia dropped her eyes, looking as submissive as she could. "Sorry, shouldn't have asked." The walk back down the stairs was awkward, as was the cab ride back home.

She was getting a vase for the flowers when he spoke. "I apologize for my actions, it was rude. The flowers, I picked them for you." He walked over, still limping when he came up to the counter.

"Another message?"

"If you can find it." He smirked, and Julia stepped around into his arms. His panicking about holding her had decreased greatly, so that he only twitched a little when she drew his hands to her waist and cupped his face with hers.

"Oswald, you are absolutely insane." She said, before kissing him. It was a great deal more intense, and she slipped a bit of tongue in as well. He pushed her back against the counter, hands tightening and breath quickening. His kiss was much improved, and his handwork was still amazing. Julia was feeling deliciously warm when he broke the kiss off for a moment and proceeded to lick his way down her neck. "What are they?"

Oswald looked up from her neck for a moment. "Dahlia, white heather, red daisy."

"What do they mean?" She asked, but then quickly forgot her question as Oswald nipped at her shoulder. Oswald's fingers were moving lower, pawing at the waistband of her pants. Suddenly she thought their actions were much more suited to the bedroom and drew him along. Who cared if they'd only kissed twice, he was ready and she was more than willing. And a bed was much more preferable than the kitchen table. He was more than game, and shut the door behind them quickly.

The flowers sat forgotten on the counter, a bowl of apples next to them.


	11. Chapter 11

She hadn't expected him to be this aggressive when she brought him to her room. But here she was, pinned against the door as Oswald deliberately kissed and sucked his way down her throat, fingers slipping buttons loose as they advanced downward. She tried to make her hands work on his, but all she seemed to be able to do was grasp at his hair and moan when he lightly bit her shoulder. She shrugged out of her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Oswald was still holding her against the door, but she slipped herself around so that he was suddenly falling onto the bed with her.

His bony knees planted on either side of her hip, making it so she could only raise her chest. She was pressed flush against him, which he didn't seem to mind. What he minded was her bra, as his fingers were shaking while trying to undo the clasp. Julia reached back and guided his fingers, letting him pull it off and throw across the room. His lips went to her breasts, and all she could do was call his name. "Oswald, oh God."

He kept taking her clothes though, her slacks joining her shirt and her underwear following. She lay naked underneath him, his pants soft on her skin. Julia couldn't help the moan that came out of her throat as his hands finally found their target, spreading her and searching for the one spot that would make her come undone. oF course, finding the spot wouldn't be easy, but Julia knew they had nothing but time.

She pulled at his shirt, drawing him up from her neck. "Off. Take it off."

To his credit, he only paused for a moment. She helped him with the buttons, pulling them free and kissing every bit of chest that came through. He wasn't muscled, and he was pale, but he shivered and groaned every time she traced her fingers across his chest. "Don't stop."

She didn't intend to, sucking on his nipples like he had on hers. The sounds he made were so tantalizing, and when her hands dipped below the waist of his pants he practically fainted. At least, she thought that was why he suddenly went slack, his mouth slightly open. When she drew her hand away he was back on her, pulling the last of his clothes away so he could press every inch of their skin flush up against each other.

He wasn't huge, and he wasn't small, but rather a nice in between that she could feel right up against her thigh. His lips were on her ear, his voice ragged. "Condom?"

Her voice was more breathy than she had hoped. "I'm on the pill, I'll take a morning after."

With that his lips immediately latched on her ear, sucking and pulling and making her almost come undone. One leg latched around his hips, pulling him closer. Oswald groaned again, rubbing against her.

And then suddenly he was in, and she arched up. He was shivering as he pulled out, and went back in. She'd been so far gone that by the fourth or fifth stroke she came undone. Her leg around his hip tightened, and she almost screamed. Oswald seemed to smile as he felt her constrict around him, continuing his motions with pleasure as he worked toward his own climax. When it came, when he came, it was with a groan and him sinking his teeth into her shoulder. Her hands clutched his back, holding him as he finished. Finally he withdrew, sweat slicked skin sliding over hers. When he rolled off, she followed. His arm curled around her, fingers draped across her waist.

His voice was thick, tired but satisfied. "I've been wanting that for a long time."

"How long?"

"Since you defended me in the bar." Oswald sounded almost relieved. "When you became my champion." The sarcasm in his voice was almost palpable.

She cuddled a little closer into his side, hearing his breaths get longer and longer. She couldn't really define what they had. At first, it was just through desperation, her wanting to live. And that was still a large part of it. She didn't want to die, and now that she knew Oswald was actually working for Falcone she didn't have any qualms about helping him feed info to Maroni. But now she'd gotten close to him, slept with him. They weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, and they were a long way from saying 'I love you' if they were actually close at all. But they were together, and he'd saved her life. She was bound to him, completely and by her own volition.

And she could only hope he saw her the same way.


End file.
